Broken words
by Blackdragon3
Summary: This is a small series of dark, dark, dark stories. One for each brother. consider yourself warned. Mentions of suicide and tcest. There's gore, angst and depressive things.
1. Broken 1: Donatello

Lips curled back, snarling at clumsy hands. 

So chunky and awkward.

And shaking. He was shaking so badly. The test tubes he held were so delicate and he couldn't afford to break them.

If they broke, there would be shards. Sharp little pieces of glass. Sticky substances splattered onto his polished desk. It would take hours to clean. And clean again. And polish once more.

His desk needed to be perfect. Clean.

Which brought him back to his shaking hands. Shaking even more now, that the image of a mess on his perfect desk was burning into his mental vision.

But he needed to finish this experiment.

Needed to create a retro-mutagen.

Needed to fix his mistakes.

Needed to make everything perfect again.

But HE was not perfect.

And once again his mouth pulled back to growl at himself and his clumsy, awkward body and its inability to operate as he willed it to.

Of course, he was a splendid fighter. Nimble, agile in battle, but he was never perfect. Nothing was perfect with him and he blinked his burning, tired eyes against the hot sting filling them.

There was a whisper in the back of his mind, telling him to stop and rest. To remember the time and allow his exhausted body and mind to recover, gather strength to continue.

And then, he heard the laughter. Words taunting him with a voice sweet, sweet like honey. Poisoned words filled his head, threatening to drown out every other sensation.

His head moved in a sharp shake and he took an unsteady breath.

Concentrate.

Concentrate.

After what seemed to have been ages of staring, he finally moved his quaking hands, tipping the tube ever so slightly. Just one drop.

A single little drop was all that he needed to add to the compound in the beaker.

It was so simple. Such a simple task.

But again, his body betrayed him.

With a mighty jerk, overly tired and strained muscles along his arm seized up, cramping and spasming and with a horrified shriek, he watched, oddly fascinated, as the tube slipped from his fingers.

It fell.

Cradling his cramping arm, he jumped up, away from the horror right before his eyes.

Shards.

Liquids.

Botched experiment.

And again, he could hear the laughter. Louder this time. It made his head vibrate and he took a gulping breath.

Yet, his eyes stayed glued to the mess on his perfect, perfect desk.

Some part of him recognized the warning signs. His gulping, hitched breaths, much, much too fast and much too shallow, the sudden rushing in his ears, so very loud but the laughter still was louder, starting to hurt, and the trembling, that had by now taken over his entire body.

He was panicking. He knew it. He KNEW. It was a reaction to stress, Adrenaline was pumping through his body, detecting a threat that was none, and yet.

As intelligent and logical as he was...

This was stronger.

Stumbling, he moved forward, back towards the mess he had made, the mess that scared him so much.

It needed to go, and quick.

Bare-handed, he started sweeping up the shards and cold chemicals, ignoring the flash of pain as he cut himself. No.

No. No. No. NO!

The filth needed to be gone!

His fingers scrambled to pick up more of the shards, brush away more of that dreadful liquid.

A third hand appeared from the corner of his vision and he gave a violent jerk, a startled gasp on his lips.

No...

No, no.

Don't look.

Just ignore it.

He almost didn't dare look. He almost resisted.

It would have been OKAY if he just hadn't looked. He was sure of that.

But he couldn't command his eyes to keep staring forward. They moved on their own, away from his task and to the side.

Right into his own face.

The world did a bloodcurdling tilt. Everything just moved beneath his feet, around his self and he gave a helpless, panicked noise, no more than a whimper, as he lost the feeling in his limbs.

He must have stumbled, fallen, even, but at the same time, his feet were glued to the floor, unmoving, frozen in place.

Breathing seemed so much harder now, and he tried listening to his breaths, tried to even them out, but that horrible, sweet, sweet laughter – no longer inside of his head, but outside – blotted out all other sounds.

He cried out as the world took another wild spin, leaving him dizzy, disoriented, scared.

Something was touching him, grounding him for a moment, and he opened his eyes, staring back into wide, chocolate colored orbs, surrounded by purple cloth.

It was like looking into a mirror.

Only that there was none.

And then, he spoke. 'He' spoke to him, to himself, green mouth stretching into a horrible bastardization of a smile, eyes impossibly wide, gleaming with something he could not name.

"Come..." he, it, he whispered. "Come... I will take you away. I will make it all stop." he promised, that sweet, sweet voice and he lifted his hands, trembling so hard he barely had any control left to do so. His wide, bloodied, wet palms pressed to his head, pressing so hard to make the sound go away.

But it didn't.

He heard it everywhere. Inside of his head and outside.

That terrible smile stretched further.

"You are already there... you just need to let go and it all will stop."

His eyes flitted around, trying to catch a glimpse of the shadows teasing at the edges of his sight, moving, fleeing when he tried to see. They were there. Shadows, CREATURES. With glowing eyes and gleaming fangs, hollow eyes and...

Icy cold skin touched against his own and he screamed, clenching his eyes shut, pressing his hands against his ears even harder.

He still saw himself.

He still heard himself.

He still FELT himself.

Touching, stealing the warmth from him with every brush of soft fingers, leaving nothing but icy cold emptiness.

He wanted to scream, but his voice had died.

He wanted to run, but his body had long since gone numb.

"Come..." he whispered again. "I promise to make everything disappear..." Beautiful, poisonous laugh, and for a mere second, he was so very tempted to give in.

He was so, so tired...

A harsh sound tore through him, into his very core and his eyes snapped open.

The shadows were gone. As was he. As was the laughter.

The sound returned, a metallic thumping and it took him a moment to recognize it as a knock. Somebody was knocking on the door of his lab. His empty, brightly lit and silent lab.

A harsh breath left his lips, as if he had held his breath for too long. And maybe he had. Suddenly, his lungs expanded and contracted with new breaths, far too easy after the weight that had obstructed his chest before.

"Donnie, dinner's ready, come on out and eat, genius!"

"Be right there!"

How in the world he managed to sound so normal was beyond his comprehension. But he was glad for it.

Slowly, he placed down his test tube, safely into the storage box. The beaker was pushed back to its rightful place on his perfect, perfect desk.

He knew he needed another moment to collect himself.

He knew he needed to prepare himself.

Get rid of the harsh trembling.

Of the wetness of sweat and tears running down his face.

He needed to appear perfect. Perfect for his brothers.

Perfection was everything.

As he willed himself to rise stiffly from his seat, he wiped away the moisture from his cheeks, grabbing a towel and turned on the water of his small sink.

The others would think he was just cleaning himself to remove some dirt from his experiments. They would not ask.

As he stared at himself in the mirror, he felt himself smile, unintentionally.

He knew he would follow the voice.

That sweet, sweet voice luring him... he would follow.

Not just yet. Not yet.

First, he needed to fix his mistakes.

First, he had to make everything perfect again.

Then... he would follow.

Everything would finally disappear.

Everything would be perfect.

And HE would become perfect, too.


	2. Broken 2: Michelangelo

When they finally found him, after hours and hours of searching, he didn't respond to them,

He just stared at the bloody ground, wide-eyed and silent.

…

The night had started like many, many before. There had been news on TV, alarming footage, and they hadn't hesitated to have a look for themselves. It wasn't that hard to find out where the problem originated from.

They had been fully expecting a fight.

They always did.

It was in their very existence. They were fighters.

And they had fought.

But their rivals had had the advantage of fighting in their own turf.

Somewhere in the middle of battle, they had been separated, getting lost in interlacing halls and floors. The building was old. It had crumbled beneath the weight of them.

None of them had noticed, too focused on their fight.

At some point, each of them was on his own.

Not for long, however. After the fight, Leonardo and Donatello quickly found each other on the base floor, climbing over broken walls and debris. Raphael was on a floor beneath them, but they found him after a while as well.

Michelangelo was nowhere to be found.

They immediately started looking for him, calling out in the dusty halls, littered with unconscious or dead bodies.

Nothing.

No sound of fight.

No sound whatsoever.

No sign, no trace of their brother anywhere.

Worry was quick to fill their minds and they quickened their steps, running through halls, jumping down stairs, breaking in doors.

No trace.

Not until one of them spotted a dim, flickering light from beneath a heavy steel door. Surprisingly enough, it hadn't been locked.

A control room.

Screens, screens, screens, some of them had been black, some were been flaring, creating an unsettling buzz and flicker of light. A few of them were working.

One of them showed their missing brother.

Immediately, Donatello sat down and started to hack into the system, trying to figure out where their baby brother was at.

The other two were left to stare uselessly at the screen.

Michelangelo was facing a man, in some sort of laboratory. The image was fuzzy, grainy, but there were cages around them.

Raphael and Leonardo frowned.

The man, wearing a lab coat covered in large, dark blotches, looked lanky and old, not like he was much of a challenge. But Michelangelo wasn't moving, his weapons drawn, ready to charge, but frozen in his spot.

Something was keeping him from attacking.

It took him a moment to recognize that the man was holding something. From the angle of the camera, it was hard to see, but he was holding something to his chest.

They appeared to be talking and next to him, Raphael made a small sound. "Is that a cat?"

Blinking, Leonardo squinted his eyes, staring at the grainy image and surely enough, there was a motion, a tail and two pointy ears appearing from behind the man's arms.

The oldest brother felt his stomach twist.

He urged his quickly typing brother on to work faster. Whatever was going on in that room wasn't going to end well if they didn't do something fast.

He just knew.

And really, Michelangelo dropped his kusarigama on the floor, lifting his hands in an appeasing gesture.

Leonardo couldn't see clearly, but Mikey looked scared.

And then it happened.

There was a quick motion, one of the man's arms jerked outward, before the other arm pulled back and hauled the cat at Michelangelo as if it was a toy. He caught it, instinctively, but Leonardo saw him fall to his knees just a second after.

The cat was dead.

Michelangelo fussed over it for a moment, maybe trying to save it, stop the blood that coated his hands now, anything.

Then, as if he had burned himself, he put it down, jumping up and scrambling back until his shell connected with the wall.

The video feed was without sound, but they knew the man was laughing. The shaking of his boney shoulders told them.

Michelangelo was pointing at him, talking, possibly screaming at him.

The man only took a large step to the side, halfway vanishing behind the edge of the screen and Michelangelo again lifted his hands, showing he was unarmed, shrinking in on himself to make himself smaller and obviously not meaning to attack.

When the man returned to the screen, he held another creature in his arms.

"Donnie, HURRY!" Leonardo hissed, already feeling the silent rage of his strong brother rub off on him. Raphael was deadly silent next to him, but Leonardo knew him better than that.

The hate radiating off of him was strong enough to create an almost physical reaction to it. Leonardo felt his skin crawl.

Oh, there would be hell unleashed if Raphael got to get his hands on that man first.

For a mere second, he was tempted to feel sorry for that man, to speak up and warn his stronger brother to leave the judgment to the human authorities. Almost. But as the second animal followed the first, hitting the youngest of the brothers square in the chest, he kept his mouth tightly closed.

No.

He would make sure Raphael would be the one dealing with that man. They both deserved that.

Focusing back on the screen, he watched as the man gestured over to Michelangelo, threatening a third animal with what seemed to be a large scalpel.

Their youngest brother moved slowly, over to a bare spot in a corner.

The man did something off screen and the ground beneath their baby brother opened up, swallowing him up. A chute of some sort, and Leonardo grit his teeth.

"Mikey!"

"I found him!" Donatello was out of his seat and out the door in a second, the remaining two brothers not even bothering to ask. They just followed, dashing down another two floors and into the room Michelangelo had been in just moments ago.

It reeked of death.

Leonardo took a moment to take in the scene before him.

The large room was lined with cages, all sorts of animals giving terrified shrieks and howls, skittering within their cages.

At least those who were still alive.

Blood covered most of the floor and most of the man still standing in the corner of the room.

Several carcasses were on the floor. Some new. Some already putrefying, filling the room with the sickeningly sweet smell of rotting flesh.

Leonardo distantly heard Donatello gag and violently empty his stomach somewhere behind him. Raphael was next to him and he could hear the leather of his sais squeak in protest at how hard his strong brother gripped his weapons.

This man was dead.

The oldest brother stepped back, not even bothering to pay any more attention to a dead man. He was far more concerned with the whereabouts of his youngest brother. Leaning over the dark duct in the ground, he tried peering down.

"Mikey? Michelangelo! Are you okay?" No answer. Just the lingering thrum of his voice vibrating off the metal lining. "MIKEY?!" He tried, louder.

Still no answer.

A look over his shoulder showed the man trying the same sick trick he had used with Michelangelo, keeping a small pet to his chest, bloodied hands holding a scalpel to the creature's neck.

Raphael didn't hesitate.

Horror crept into the man's face, but his arm wasn't quick enough to even scratch the pet's fur before sharp, pointy steel buried itself into his elbow with deadly precision.

The animal used its chance to skitter off, leaving the man defenseless.

Leonardo didn't watch as Raphael took his rage out on him. The sound of gurgling breaths and splattering blood too familiar by now.

Instead, he turned his eyes to his sickly pale but determined other brother, having found a rope to climb down that chute into the blackness below.

The smell wafting up from there was unbearable.

The way down luckily wasn't too far, and when they touched ground, it was soft. And wet.

If Michelangelo had fallen, his landing shouldn't have harmed him.

Physically, at least.

A single step was all it took to tell Leonardo everything he didn't want to know.

Carcass disposal.

They were standing on a pile of dead bodies, blood and other liquids squelching under their feet and this time, Donatello wasn't the only one who gagged.

As little as he wanted to, Leo reached for his belt, searching blindly for the glow stick he kept there.

"Mikey...?" He called, bending the plastic and shaking it until it lit up with a sharp, green glow. Immediately, there were twin groans behind him and the sound of dry-heaving.

The entire room. The entire. Large. Room... was covered with corpses. In between fur and bones were the occasional human parts and Leonardo felt his own stomach lurch.

Somehow, he managed to keep himself under control.

Michelangelo had to be somewhere here. He couldn't have gone far. There was no trace of him here, only a half-opened door.

When they finally found him, he didn't respond to them,

He just stared at the bloody ground, wide-eyed and silent.

Pale, green skin was covered in blood. Not his own. None of it was his own.

Again, Raphael was the one to act first. Yet, he moved slowly this time, carefully to not startle their silent brother further.

"Mikey, hey..." He called, soft and slow.

The youngest turned slowly, lifting his head to look at them. But he didn't seem to really see them.

His eyes were wide, too bright, too empty. There was blood on his face and in his eyes as well, tinting them pink and Leonardo had to swallow against the rising bile in his throat.

"Let's go get you home, hm? We're done here." Raphael murmured, reaching out a hand to touch Michelangelo's shoulder.

Before he even made contact, though, Michelangelo jerked away, startling all of them with a panicked scream. As if the touch would harm him.

"Mikey?!" Instinctively, Raphael lowered his hand, worry overtaking his features as he tried to figure out what had startled him so.

They all watched as Mikey looked at them, then down at himself. At the blood slowly sliding over his body and dripping onto the ground. 

The first move was slow.

Michelangelo lifted a hand to wipe off some of the blood from his plastron. Instead of removing it, though, he only spread the smudges. The hitched breath that followed told them all what was happening.

His motions became hectic, jerky, violent, as he tried desperately, to get rid of the blood on his skin. "Get it off! Get it off get it off GET IT OFF!" he was positively panicking now, tears springing to his azure eyes and hands rubbing frantically over his skin.

Before he could do any damage to himself, Raphael caught his hands in a firm grip, stopping him and forcing his youngest brother to look at him. "Breathe, Mikey. Breathe. And listen to me." He tried, calm, but with a certain firmness behind his words.

It didn't work.

Michelangelo struggled, trying to free his hands, terrified cries leaving his lips.

"NO! No, the blood! The blood! You'll get-... it's all-... I-... the blood- GET IT OFF OF ME! Please, please, please..."

When Raphael didn't let go, Mikey screamed. His knees hit the ground hard, and he still struggled.

And he still screamed, unintelligible screams, even more so, when Raphael followed him down, trying to get closer.

Neither words nor gestures worked to calm the youngest down. So, with much chagrin, Raphael gave a quick, precise hit to Michelangelo's neck, knocking him out.

There wouldn't be any damage, aside from maybe another bruise, but it would give them all time to get away from here and back home where they could tend to their baby brother properly.

Leonardo watched, still rooted on his spot, as Raphael picked Mikey up, not paying attention to the blood, gently cradling the youngest to his chest as he carried him away from this place. Donatello and Leonardo followed quietly.

They way out and back to their lair was thankfully quick and uneventful.

Leonardo and Donatello left Raphael to watch over a still unconscious Michelangelo for now, preferring to pay a long and thorough visit to the showers, almost as eager to get the blood and grime off their skin as Mikey had been.

By the time they were done, Michelangelo was already about to pull out of unconsciousness.

Leonardo pulled Donatello with him to the side, knowing Raphael would be able to handle the situation for now.

At least he hoped so.

The fears stirring in his middle weren't needed, however, as the only sounds carrying over to the kitchen, where he prepared some tea for all of them, were the quiet murmur of words. Raphael picked his little brother up once more, to carry him off to the bathroom as well.

A nice and hot bath was probably the best for each of them, but even after a short shower, he felt much, much better. Bathing was for Mikey now, Donatello and he could wait.

Hours went by.

Donatello had already gone to bed, exhausted after today's events and unresisting when Leo had sent him off.

But Leonardo couldn't sleep yet. He needed to wait for his two brothers to return. Needed to see for himself that Michelangelo would be okay.

The quiet click and squeak as the bathroom door opened was so loud in the silence of the lair that the oldest brother actually jumped, nearly knocking over his empty cup.

He stood when his brothers stepped out, slowly, unsteadily and Michelangelo having to lean heavily against Raphael's side to remain upright. Leonardo swallowed, but moved closer regardless. Just when he was opening his mouth to call out to them, Raphael's eyes met his and he froze.

A small shake of head and Leonardo knew to keep his distance for now.

Raphael's jaw was tight, lips pressed into a thin line and the oldest brother knew the damage done to the youngest was far more severe than expected.

He didn't try to get closer anymore, watching with a sinking feeling how Raphael maneuvered Michelangelo into his room.

Leonardo would not forget the haunted, empty expression on Michelangelo's face.

Not ever.

Out of the four of them, Mikey was the youngest.

The most naive and childish.

A competent fighter, versatile and unique in his techniques, different to his brothers but no less skilled or successful.

But he was not as hardened as his brothers.

Not as used to or prepared for the darkness accompanying their battles. True, he loved a good fight just as any of them did. But there had always been a resentment in him, whenever he had to use more violence than he wanted to.

He was loathe to kill.

It wasn't in his nature. He was kind, he was easygoing, always up to some sort of hilarious mischief. Michelangelo was playful and still believed the world to be a wonderful place that deserved to be saved. To him, they were heroes, battling evil for the greater good.

Leonardo hoped that he would recover from the blow his fragile mind had received. Just like he did the cuts and bruises that each of them usually carried home from fights.

Guilt gnawed at him, even as Leonardo made his way back to his own room.

He should have protected his brother better.

Kept him away from evils he couldn't handle yet.

He hoped Michelangelo would soon recover, be back to his usual, playfully annoying self. Find his happiness again and soon forget about the horrors he had seen.

He didn't...

He probably never would.


	3. Broken 3: Leonardo

It was late.

I couldn't tell exactly what time it was, not that it really mattered. It was late, possibly somewhere around midnight, when I pulled myself out of the stiff position I usually meditated in.

Groaning at the soundless creaking of my joints, I stretched, aiming to loosen tight muscles after sitting still for hours.

Meditating.

It helped clear my head, jumbled thoughts, worries, half-planned strategies, they all became distant and silent. If only for a few, precious moments, but it helped me calm down, focus on what was most important.

In a way, I think, it is a method of escape.

It hasn't always been like this.

Before, meditation was exactly what it was supposed to be. A technique to temporarily remove all the noise of insignificant thoughts, the rambling of one's mind, to focus purely on a single matter. It had helped me find answers to problems, to see details, angles, I might have missed before, gain insight to complicated strategies.

Lately... all the reason I have to meditate is to leave the weight behind.

The weight of responsibility, the worry of and about my brothers, the questions I see in their eyes, the expectations thrown at me. Both from them and from our father.

It is too much.

I don't resent taking the role as leader. I don't. It came naturally.

But I resent that I cannot fulfill my duty.

I am giving it my all. But I'm failing.

It's just too much.

Silently, I made my way from the dojo over to my own room. It was dark. My brothers were hopefully asleep, even though I had a suspicion that it wasn't the case. None of us got proper rest much anymore.

I passed Mikey's room and was glad to not find any light or sound coming from it. There was only a sense of calm wafting through the door. My baby brother was sleeping. It seemed peaceful enough.

Sensing auras, moods, it was a gift and a curse.

Right now, I was glad for it, because it put me at rest a tiny bit. I even felt my lips pull into a warm smile, knowing one out of my three brothers was well.

At least, for a little while.

Turning my head, I decided to check in on the other two. Maybe finding them resting and calm would put me at ease enough to find some rest as well.

What a foolish hope.

I snuck towards Donatello's lab doors. They were dark and silent, just like Michelangelo's. But there was none of the serene calm of a peaceful sleep within.

Donnie was restless. Likely, he was brooding over some gadget or experiment. He wasn't working, there wasn't any sound from within. His equipment was shut down, as it should be, for the night.

But his mind wasn't.

He was intelligent. Brilliant, even. A creative genius.

But I knew.

Like my enhanced senses, his gift was a curse.

I was aware of his burden. Nobody but him could solve the puzzles they faced.

Shaking my head, I heard myself sigh.

I wanted to comfort him, order him to go and get some rest. But I knew it would be an empty order. I couldn't tell him to do the impossible.

And really, I couldn't bring myself to muster the energy.

I didn't want to deal with this right now.

Not right now.

Morning would come, hopefully after at least a few hours of sleep, and I would come to him to offer my support. It would have to do.

I knew it wouldn't be enough, but whatever help I could offer, I would give.

With another sigh, feeling the small feeling of relief at Mikey's calm crumble to dust at Donatello's restlessness, I made my way over to Raphael's room.

This time, however, I stopped before I even reached the door.

Raphael and I have always had a special connection. It was stronger between us than it was for anyone else in this family.

I didn't need to go any closer to feel the sparking anger from within. It throbbed off my brother in dizzying waves and the longer I allowed myself to stay and feel them wash over me, the dizzier I became.

No.

No, I really could not deal with this. I was too exhausted.

And yet... Yet, I longed to be with him.

Raphael had a way of making me forget about my worries. Almost more than meditating did.

Whenever he's close to me, his presence demands absolute attention. It's nothing he did consciously. It's his nature. Raphael is strength, power, raw emotions that are so very intent on sweeping you away.

Even more so for me than for my brothers.

It is sometimes so very hard to resist the pull of his anger in battle, his wrath and worry when one of us is in danger, his passion in everything he does.

He and I have always had this special connection.

Not only our spirits.

I swallowed against the sudden, dry lump in my throat.

I longed for him. For the precious gift he had, that could wipe out all those erratic thoughts and musings, all of those duties and weights resting on my weary mind.

It was a selfish longing, I know.

I know.

Yet, I couldn't stop wanting that.

But not tonight. Not for as long as I had any self-control left.

After what seemed like an eternity of staring at his closed door, getting lost in my thoughts, I finally managed to pull away, forcing my tired body to move to my own room, finally.

Habit had me lifting my arm to fumble for the light switch before I could stop it. Instead of flicking it on, however, I dropped my hand. The darkness swallowing me felt comfortable. I didn't need any light right now.

Maybe never again.

The thoughts entering my mind came as sudden as the flash of light would have. It was like a switch in my head and without fault, I rushed forward, crashing to my knees in front of the small cabinet in the corner of my otherwise nearly bare room.

My hands trembled, shook, as I removed the items within it, finding them with acute precision, even in the pitch black darkness in my room.

I couldn't see.

I didn't need to.

When my fingers closed around the small, plastic bottle, I couldn't help the small, choked noise of relief escaping me.

Safety.

As I clutched the bottle to my chest with both hands, suddenly fevered forehead resting against cool wood, I realized how desperate I was.

I was a fool.

A stupid, cowardly fool.

And a failure.

A traitor.

Weak.

Bitterness rose in my throat, but still I clutched my little secret to me.

I ought to be their protector. I ought to lead and guard my brothers. I ought to be the big brother, having control and always having a strategy up my sleeve.

I ought to be their hero.

Not the coward clutching at a bottle of pills like it was a lifeline.

Lifeline.

There was no 'farther from the truth'.

I was such a coward.

How long had it been that I've hidden the pills in my room? Months now? A year? It didn't matter.

Gently, I tilted the plastic container, hearing the quiet rattling inside. There were more than enough. At first, I had stashed them away so I could have something to take for headaches or sore muscles without having to bother Donnie about painkillers.

I don't remember when I first thought about another purpose they'd serve.

Now, though, they are my comfort. They are like a safety blanket.

Because...

I don't need to endure it all to the end.

I don't have to go past my breaking point anymore.

Removing the cap silently, I tilt the container more, letting those small, smooth pills roll onto my palm. Almost, almost, I can see them gleam in the dark.

For a while, I just sit and stare at the blackness where I know my palm is.

How many times have I sat this way?

I never swallowed a single pill. Not after they've become my salvation. I didn't want to use them up for fear that in the end, there wouldn't be enough left to...

I was scared.

My palms started to warm, and I quickly put the pills back, before I damaged the gelatin capsules with moisture.

No, I needed them intact.

Not... not for tonight. I wasn't quite there yet.

A few times, I was close. So, so close.

Once, I almost did it. I had water, I had the pills, I had the doors locked, I had waited until the others were out or busy so nobody would miss me before I was gone...

It was Raphael that stopped me.

For some reason, he had been back too early. And he had been in a tantrum of epic proportions.

It had fully ruined my carefully prepared plan.

But it had given me enough will to continue on for a little while longer. I couldn't leave my family behind just yet. Not yet.

My fingers tightened around the small plastic bottle.

Not tonight, either.

I was tired, yes, but not that tired.

Not yet.

I could go on just a little longer.

Finally, I managed to return the bottle to its rightful place in the back of the cabinet. Blindly, but precisely, I put everything back in place, before closing it.

Eventually, I would come and sit here. And not leave the room ever again.

It was an oddly comforting thought. That at some point, I could make everything disappear until only silence was left.

I only now noticed the wetness on my cheeks.

When had I started crying?

This wasn't something to cry over. On the contrary, it should be something to look forward to. Wasn't it...?

A sharp knock tore me out of my thoughts and automatically, immediately, I wiped the moisture from my eyes. Nobody could see me like this!

"Open the door." The low voice made me shiver with its intensity. If I had considered to simply ignore the intruder and pretend I hadn't heard or simply refuse to follow the order, the way he said it didn't give me any room to do so.

I blinked against the light flooding the room when I cracked the door open a mere inch, finding Raphael's burning eyes fixed on my own.

I swallowed, opening my mouth to ask what he was doing here.

He didn't give me any chance to make a sound.

His stronger form pushed into my room, slamming the door shut behind him and enclosing us in darkness once more.

Not half a second after the door closed, I felt his mouth crushing against my own, hard.

Strong, warm hands pulled me close to his smaller, yet stronger body,

Well, this wasn't something I had expected.

But Raphael didn't give me time to think or protest. Not that I felt like pushing him away. Not when I could already feel my mind slipping away from everything but him.

He gave a low growl and I knew I wasn't going to do much thinking for a while.

It wasn't often that we met this way. That we did this.

The hot shudder that worked itself down my spine had me questioning that. Why weren't we doing this more often?

My own hands started to wander, exploring over familiar skin, over familiar scars and nicks in his shell and plastron. It was still pitch black in my room. Yet, like my cabinet, I knew Raphael like the back of my hand. I didn't need my sight to know him.

With another, needy growl, Raphael pulled me over to where he knew my futon was.

I heard myself chuckling. Always so pushy.

That chuckle died in my throat, however, when I found myself pulled, falling forward onto my brother and ending up crashing down with him onto the thin mat of the futon.

We kissed again and I felt strong arms clutch at me, pulling us closer until there was not a hair's breadth of space between us.

Through the pleasurable fog building in my head, I felt muscled thighs spread and wrap around my middle and I froze for a moment.

We didn't share this often.

And even rarer were the times Raphael actually gave any control up to me and let me lead.

I wanted to say something, ask what brought this on, but he wouldn't let me. With an almost angry sounding hiss, he sealed my mouth with his own once more.

Seems like I didn't have much say or control in the matter after all.

Not that I minded.

Not with Raphael hot and inviting beneath me, demanding all of my attention.

Who was I to deny him that?

It was raw and intense.

Something between us was different, it tugged at the edges of my awareness. But Raphael wouldn't let me think. He was all desperation and teeth, clutching at me so tightly that I was afraid he'd break something.

His mood caught on to me, as it did much too often and I left more than a few marks on him, teeth leaving dark imprints in his skin, a dark moan vibrating through him when I broke skin.

Something was definitely off.

Still, I was too far gone to fight the passion taking over my mind. Raphael demanded it hurt, so I gave in. Even when he kept me pressed to him, instead of letting me find something to ease our coupling, I didn't protest.

It was raw and it was intense and the end came with such a force that I had to cling to him just as desperately as he did to me.

I don't know how long we spent after, just catching our breaths, returning to reality gradually, but the next time I could form a coherent thought, Raphael was looking at me with eyes that shone, even in the darkness.

Sluggishly, he moved, shifting next to me to fumble with something on my nightstand.

There was a flicker of light, and a single candle lit my room.

My brother leaned in, brushing a much, much softer kiss to my mouth than before.

"Leo... listen, I..." I frowned in confusion. It wasn't like him to fumble for words. Or to hesitate.

But he was hesitating, half-leaning over me and looking to the side while he seemed to gather his thoughts.

Was that a shimmer of moisture in his eyes?

Again, I opened my mouth to ask, to express my worries. The move must have triggered his resolve, though, and he silenced me with a single look. Glowing green embers burnt into me and I felt my throat tighten with the heaviness of his stare.

"Leonardo." He started, voice low but powerful. He never, NEVER, used my full name like that.

The gentle fingertips that ran over my cheek in a caress were a sharp contrast to his stare and I held my breath when he continued.

"You do not get to leave us." How could he sound so calm while at the same time sounding so very severe? It was unsettling.

"You will not go alone."

I felt my body stiffen before I even fully realized what he meant.

He knew.

He KNEW.

Panic shot up my spine and I was ready to flee, escape his knowing stare.

He wouldn't let me.

His eyes alone were enough to pin me in place, more than all of his muscles ever could. How could he be so calm?

"Listen to me." He demanded. He demanded and I obeyed.

"You do not get to go alone. You might be the one to go ahead... but we won't be far behind you. No matter where you decide to go, we will always be just one step behind you." Warm palm caressing my cheek.

"You will not go alone."

Raphael wasn't trying to console me.

He wasn't throwing guilt at me.

He wasn't attempting to stop me.

He was stating a simple fact.

He was simply letting me know.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes and I swallowed, hard.

"I'm sorry..." My voice sounded pathetic, even to my own ears, croaking against the tightness in my throat.

That caressing hand slipped to cover my mouth, keeping me from saying any more. Raphael shook his head, still calm, still firm, but with the same moisture in his blazing eyes.

A single look and I felt a soothing, yet frightening calm settle over me.

Raphael knew.

And he was right there with me.

I gave a sigh, tension draining out of me, and he removed his hand, our mouths meeting for a slower, softer kiss.

Maybe that was what had brought our tumble on. Maybe that was why he had been so keen on the accompanying pain. Maybe, it had been for him, as much as it had been for me. A moment to forget and feel alive.

To carve our presence into each other with pleasure, heat and pain.

A farewell gift to each other.

Not yet...

Not quite yet.

But as my eyes slid close and sleep claimed me, my last thought was a comforting one.

Raphael wouldn't refuse my choice.

He would be right there with me.


End file.
